


And on the Sixth Day...

by Beetle Brownleaf (monsterlover)



Series: I Trust You [14]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24658186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterlover/pseuds/Beetle%20Brownleaf
Summary: This is set after Urianger's Journal, Chapter 2: 26th Sun of the First Umbral Moon, found in the series Urinager's Writings.
Relationships: Urianger Augurelt/Warrior of Light
Series: I Trust You [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1519190
Comments: 13
Kudos: 18





	And on the Sixth Day...

Urianger leaned against the window, his gaze empty as he found himself lost in thought.

 _I wish to make Beetle my wife,_ he had penned in his journal some weeks before. The words swirled around in his mind like an endless waltz, to the unceasing music of his indecisiveness. The indecision came not of his own feelings - no, he was absolutely certain he wished to marry her. It came instead from what action such a realization warranted. 

“Urianger? Urianger… _Urianger._ ” 

The Elezen’s eyes blinked rapidly as he was ripped back into reality. He turned his head to look back at Thancred, with an inquisitive look.

“You said you wanted to talk to me?” 

“Hm? Oh! Yes,” Urianger replied.

Thancred pulled up a chair, turning it backwards to rest his arms at the top of the back.

“Well alright then, what is it?”

Urianger took in a breath, his mouth open as he stared off into space for a moment, and he exhaled audibly.

“I… well, there art a matter in which I believe thee to be more appropriately versed--”

Thancred held up his hand.

“Urianger. If this is about Beetle and your… intimate life, I may need to stop you there; it’s still a bit fresh for me that my two dearest friends are… _intimate._ ”

Urianger blinked, then shook his head.

“I… that is not the matter I wouldst discuss with thee.”

“Oh? Ah, carry on then.”

Urianger took in another deep breath.

“I,” he began, with a hard swallow, “I wish to ask something of Beetle, something… of great import… and I know not how to proceed.”

Thancred nodded slowly.

“Alright,” he said, “What is it?”

Urianger opened his mouth to speak, and he stopped, putting his fist to his mouth. His eyes moved about as he turned the thoughts over in his mind. The silence was rather thick, and Thancred tilted his head, his brows furrowing.

“Urianger,” he said, his voice growing softer, “Is everything alright?” 

Urianger’s face twisted in concern.

“I… wish to make Beetle my wife,” he said, the words sounding strange to him when said out loud, “But… I am unsure if she shall be… amenable… to such a proposal.” 

Thancred’s eyes went wide, and the breath in his lungs froze. He looked around, then shook his head as he exhaled.

“Well, I must admit, that… wasn’t what I was expecting you to say,” he said, “Well what… what makes you think that?” 

Urianger looked away, taking in a shuddering breath.

“We hath been together for merely nigh on six moons… doth it not seem too soon?”

Thancred shrugged.

“So? She had only formally been with Haurchefant a little over a year before he proposed,” he said, “That’s only six or so months more.”

Urianger’s fists balled up, and he bit his lip. Thancred knew him; this couldn’t be all he was worried about.

“There’s something else bothering you,” he said plainly.

Urianger took in another deep breath, his fingers kneading his forehead as he rested it against his hand.

“I am… concerned… that I may harm Beetle's heart beyond repair… were we to be wed… and then were I…”

“And then you died?”

Thancred’s bluntness caused Urianger’s eyes to squeeze shut, staying that way until he let out a deep breath.

“Yes.”

Thancred shrugged.

“Is that not always a present risk?” he said, “You could die, I could die, hells, she could die. Now I won’t pretend that I myself am not… utterly terrified by the prospect, _but_ \-- I see no reason why you should not at least talk to her about it.”

Urianger stared at Thancred, fear in his eyes.

“I-- no, no. Surely, there must be another way…”

Suddenly, another voice from a ways away joined the conversation.

“Oh ye gods, please tell me you do not think secrecy will endear you to Beetle in any way,” Y’shtola said, scoffing, “I think she has had quite enough of that.”

Urianger sighed, his lips pursing slightly.

“I had intended for this discussion to be held in privacy,” he said, “Alas. Have ye any counsel thou wisheth to share?”

Y’shtola put her hands to her hips.

“Yes. _Talk to her._ ”

Urianger’s mouth opened to speak, but no sound would come.

“I… I…”

His face suddenly warped with sorrow, and he slid down onto the chair behind him, his face in his hands.

“Urianger?” 

Y’shtola reached for him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“I cannot lose her,” he said, “If she were to become angry and reject me entirely… I know not what I wouldst do.” 

She shared a look with Thancred, who sighed aloud.

“Urianger, I won’t pretend to know much about… marriage,” he said, “But Beetle… she loves you. Very much so. And I don’t see her being angry with you simply for broaching the subject. The worst I see happening is that she will say no - and ‘no’ as in ‘not right now, but perhaps in the future’, not ‘no’ entirely - and simply continue to be your lover, rather than become your wife right now.”

Y’shtola gently pet his back, soothing him.

“Precisely. Come now, Urianger. Beetle is not only your lover, but a reasonable woman as well,” she said, “Surely there is no harm in simply talking to her.” 

Urianger sighed heavily, his shoulders dropping.

“I… ah, damn it all,” he said, “Thou speaketh true. But it shall be no easy task for me.”

* * *

For days more he would approach Beetle to speak with her on his proposal, and each time he would falter, and the words would fail him. Soon it was no longer a secret among any of the Scions; save for Beetle, of course. Each day he would be asked if he had spoken with her about it, and every day he would say "nay, I hath not". And every time, all present would exchange looks. 

Some time later, well into the next week, he was met with a finger in his face the moment he opened the door to the (quite occupied) Ocular.

“ _You_ ,” Alisaie all but growled at him.

“M-my lady?” Urianger said, timidly, his arms suddenly up near his chest in defense.

She narrowed her eyes, exhaling deeply through her nose.

“It has been… what, six days, Y’shtola?”

“Six, yes,” Y’shtola replied from across the room, not even looking up from her book.

“Yes, thank you-- It has been _six_ days since you said you were going to talk to Beetle about getting married. Urianger. This will not do,” she said, “Talk. To. Her. Now!”

Thancred gave her a smug look. 

“Forcing him will disqualify you from winning the bet, Alisaie.”

She gave a loud sigh, thoroughly exasperated.

“ _Oh for goodness’ sake_ \-- I don’t care! I can’t take this anymore!” she said, “Dragging his knuckles, moping around, sighing and pining and draping himself across every surface, gazing wistfully out of every window-- it’s driving me mad!”

Urianger felt rather much like a tortoise retreating into its shell, with how far back his head was shrinking away, her finger repeatedly darting into his space.

“...Bet?” he muttered, confused.

“Never mind that!” Alisaie said, “You are going to march straight to Beetle’s room and talk to her _this instant!_ ”

She poked him in the chest to punctuate the last words, each eliciting a small “ow” from him.

"I- but, I--"

Her glare intensified.

" _This. Instant._ "

He sighed, defeated.

"I wouldst appear to have no choice," he relented.

* * *

Once again he found himself sick to his stomach as he walked down the hallway to Beetle’s room, worried to death of the result - especially with the knowledge that he most certainly would not be allowed back out until he had spoken with her about his feelings.

He opened the door and entered; she had apparently just finished her breakfast.

"Oh, hello, my love," she said, smiling as he picked her up to kiss her, "How are you?"

He swallowed hard, wracked with nerves.

"There is a matter I wouldst discuss with thee," he finally managed to say. 

"Oh, is everything alright?" she said, as he lowered her back down.

"Indeed," he said, "Tis not a dire matter."

"Oh, good," she said, “Well, what is it?”

Urianger stood there, lips parted, eyes darting outwards as if the words he so desperately needed at the moment were everywhere else but inside his head. She laughed, her brows furrowing.

“Well go on,” she said, a little bit of worry showing through her amusement.

His gaze drew downward.

“Pray, do not fear - it truly is not dire, but it is a difficult thing for me to say,” he said, “I must once more beg forgiveness for my cowardice.”

She tried to relax, patiently standing before him.

“I,” he began, swallowing the hard lump in his throat, “I hath been ruminating upon… my love for thee--”

He sighed, starting over.

“What I mean to say is,” he said, “There art a matter that hath been upon my heart for quite some time.”

Beetle nodded, indicating that she was listening. He sighed again, pacing back and forth.

“Understand, of course, that if thou art not amenable, I wouldst not hold it against thee in any way.”

“Tis a question,” he continued, “A request - nay, a proposa-- _ahem_ , a proposition-- oh sweet Thaliak, _no_ \--”

He buried his face in his hand, sighing heavily.

“Well hells, Urianger, what is it?” Beetle said, her tone one of amused confusion.

His hand slid down his face, settling as a fist to his lips. His eyes closed, then opened, and finally he gave a deep, deep breath. Slowly, he approached her and dropped to his knees.

“Beetle,” he said, taking her hands in his, holding them to his brow as he bowed his head. His lashes fluttered over his shining eyes, and he breathed against her skin before continuing.

“I wish to make thee my wife… if thou doth find me worthy.”

He felt the jolt run through her body, heard the gentle gasp escape her lips, and he froze as he feared the worst. 

"Urianger," she breathed, "I… my goodness, do you truly?"

He nodded, unable to look into her eyes. The tears began to pour out as he trembled, sick with apprehension.

There was no other reply for a long moment, and just as he began to try to speak, her hands slid up his face. She tilted her head and lifted his own to meet her eyes.

"I would _love_ to be your wife,” she said, tenderly, a misty look in her eyes.

Her lips fell open, and she hesitated. 

_But,_ he assumed she would say, and his eyes wandered sheepishly away.

“Look at me, love, look at me,” she gently reassured, coaxing his gaze back.

“Thou need not spareth my feelings,” he choked out, “I hath no intention of forcing---” 

“Oh, now, would you let me finish?” she suddenly chastised, “I _said_ , I would love to be your wife, and you _are_ worthy. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you to stop putting yourself down.”

She huffed, pursing her lips. 

“You frustrating little man,” she said, kissing his forehead, “What kind of terrible romance novel do you think you’re in?”

He gave her a wry smile.

“One that I pray endeth happily.”

They both shared a laugh, and she ran her hand through his hair. He picked her up in his arms, giving her a firm kiss.

“But _yes,_ Urianger,” she said, breathlessly, “My answer is _yes._ I want to be your wife. Tis only a matter of when and where.”

He looked away sheepishly.

“In addition to procuring thee a suitable ring,” he said, “I apologize that I hath none for thee now.”

“Oh, don’t!” Beetle said, cupping his face in her hands, “Besides, you don’t even know my size - five and a half, by the way, _ahem_ \- and it gives us both some time to think. You need one too, you know!”

Urianger blinked, a bit surprised at himself that the particular detail had slipped his mind.

“I… suppose that is true,” he said, wiping at his face.

“Don’t worry too much about it,” she said, “Right now - we celebrate!”

She raised her voice, turning towards the door.

“Because I can hear you all crowding the door, you know.”

Muffled sounds came from behind it.

“Well did he do it? Did he ask? Did you say yes?” Thancred’s voice could be heard saying.

Beetle rolled her eyes.

“Yes, he asked, I said yes, come in already!”

The doors swung open, everyone filing inside to congratulate the newly betrothed couple. Alphinaud clasped his hands together, smiling.

"Ah, such a happy occasion! You must allow me to plan---" 

Suddenly, a voice, growing in volume at increasing speed.

_Sapling!_

_SAPLING!_

**_MY BELOVED SAPLING!_ **

In a burst of bright color and light, Feo Ul had flown in through the window in their smaller form, flitting about the room in a giddy fashion.

"Oh, my sweet sapling," they said, voice dripping with affection, "Everlasting love has found you, and soon it shall come to fruition in a most beautiful display for all to see. It is indeed a happy occasion."

They turned to Alphinaud.

"One which I shall not leave to a _boy_ who would not know romance if it was tied to a rock and thrown at him!" 

The elf stuttered.

"I-I merely wish to make sure all things go to plan and are accounted for!" he said, "As far as the particulars of romance or aesthetics, I had planned to defer to the happy couple's judgement."

The King furrowed their brow, then nodded.

"Oh, alright. As ye say," they replied, "We shall simply have to work together to make this the wedding of my sapling's dreams."

"Actually, Feo Ul," Beetle began, "I would be honored if you would give me away--"

"NEVER!" they bellowed, with a worried look.

"No, no, you misunderstand, o loveliest branch," Beetle continued, "Where I come from, the father of the bride walks down the isle with her and symbolically 'gives' her away to the groom. But I have no father, and the man whom I consider as closest to such cannot be here. So I would choose you - you who have ever watched over me here." 

Their face softened considerably.

"Ohh, oh, forgive me," they said, "I would be more than happy to do so. But where? Where shall my sapling exchange her vows with the gardener who tends to her?"

The metaphor they used caused Urianger to blush, though he supposed it was not far off. 

"Oh, hmm, I don't know," she said, "I don't want anything very big… and it would need to be soon…”

Alisaie pursed her lips, thinking.

“Well, what kind of wedding have you always wanted to have? Just start with that and we can see what we have to work with to get reasonably close,” she suggested.

“Ah, well, I suppose, if I _really_ had it my way,” she said, “I would have an outdoor wedding - the weather would be perfect for it, of course - and there would be flowers everywhere, as many as possible, maybe with a pretty garden arch…? Oh! And it would be so lovely to have one by a river or a lake, or even by the ocean, just anywhere where there’s water, I just think that would be so lovely--”

Her eyes lit up.

“Oh! Il Mheg!”

She turned to Feo Ul.

“What do you think? Could we make that happen? I mean, with a guarantee of no, erm, mischief?”

Feo Ul twirled in the air.

“Oh yes! Not even a single blade of grass upon the ground would dare disturb a wedding blessed by the King! My sapling, you shall have the wedding of your dreams, no matter what I must do!”

They floated near Alphinaud.

“You and I have work to do, [little one],” they said, “We shall have them married in a fortnight!”

The couple’s eyes went wide, faces alight with shock.

_“A fortnight?”_


End file.
